The River Arrow - Conkers and Consequentialisms

Sam was still welded to the duvet when I went to see if he was up for fishing, but as expected despite saying he would be up for it, he looked up at me, and said "I'll give this one a miss". It wasn't exactly early either because it was 7.10am and he is up that time for school, however much like his mother bed is his happy place.

What I didn't expect was 10 minutes later when loading the car, the kitchen door to the garage opened and a little face appearing it Sam had changed his mind 🤯. The Avon is still over its banks however the Arrow drops as fast as it rises so at least that would be fishable. 

The Jimny is 5 years old, and looking clean for once because of a recent service and MOT where it nearly ticked over to 40k miles on this trip out. It was a chilly morning at a nadger under 6 degrees however when we arrived at the river Sam was right out the door and was on the conker hunt. It's mad that he didn't play it in school (banned according to Sam in Health and Safety reasons) but he really enjoys it, because it suits his competitive nature. 

The earliest records of mentions of the game of conkers was in the early 19th century, with the first mention appearing in Robert Southey’s memoirs published in 1821. The game grew in popularity in the 1800’s across England.

Now the tradition way to score in a game of conkers is based on how many times a player wins / smashes an opponent's conker. The score is usually attributed to the conker itself, rather than the player. So for example, a conker that has smashed just one other conker is called a ‘one-er’; a conker that has smashed two conkers is called a ‘two-er’. 

 An added complication involved in scoring is that if your conker is a ‘two-er’ and you beat another conker that is a ‘two-er’ your conker turns into a ‘four-er’ (i.e. you add the two values of the conkers together - with the victorious conker taking the combiner value e.g. 2 + 2 = ‘four-er’.)

Other uses of the conkers include horse medicines, as additives in shampoos, and as a starch substitute. Chemicals extracted from conkers can be used to treat strains and bruises. There’s hearsay that if you place conkers around your house it will keep spiders away, but there’s no scientific proof that this is the case. (They didn't work for us !!)

The Victorians wrote recipes for making conker flour. The seeds were shelled, ground and then leached to remove bitter flavours. It’s not a common practise these days and if consumed in excessive quantities conkers are mildly poisonous.

The Arrow was within the banks but as expected it was the colour of chocolate and in most swims boiling and swirling. I had my chub with bread and worm as bait and I'd prime some spots before leapfrogging likely looking chub swims to try and catch one of the lovely chub that reside here.

Sam had his float rod with maggots and he was straight on to the fish from the off. There was about 5 inches of visibility and fishing shallow and maggots he was certainly being entertained.

Not the biggest of maggot munchers and minnows outnumbered this stamp 5 to 1. Anyway swim after swim the bigger fish didn't seem to be showing sadly. The bait(s) were presently nicely because the quiver was indicating small fish attacking their potential stomach filler, but not even a chublet graced my rod.

2 hours in Sam was getting bored catching tiddlers and he wanted a tussle with a bigger fish so we took it in turns to man the quiver rod. 

But unfortunately nothing whatsoever and we fished 6 or 7 swims I'd imagine. We disturbed a cormorant in one of those swims which was upstream of the banker. The banker it was motoring through however I managed to present a bait ok but after 15 minutes we were wasting our time.

The banker the fish are right on to the bait straight away if they are there but on this occasion their lair wasn't occupied. So around 3 hours fished and not a huge amount to show for it.....

...unlike Sam who not only outfished Daddy but he also collected a huge amount of conkers when I finished off in the weir for another biteless swim. There is more rain on the way but I watching the Avon levels like a hawk. 

I bet the barbel are out feeding when they can, and with a specific fish to target I'm hoping the river will tell me where it could be hiding out. The problem is, I need to be able to get to the river don't I. Anyway fingers crossed that won't be long, as I've not caught a decent fish in a while. 

On to the next one !!

The Tiny River Alne - Press Officers and Pen Rods

Who Runs the Club?

The Press Officer

Press Officer. It sounds grand, that. Conjures up images of high-level journalistic intrigue; influencing decisions in the corridors of power; mingling with the mighty; slipping high-powered crusading reporters the scoop of a lifetime.

What it boils down to more often than not is discovering the whereabouts of the local reporter and phoning him the results of the evening's match. (No £68,000-a-year taxpayer funded Angela Rayner official photographers to be seen here, you, yes you do as a favour)

The latter is often a difficult and lengthy operation because he can't hear you over the noise in the four-ale bar where he's putting back what the day has taken out:

'What's that? Bludgeon? Trudgeon? Dudgeon? Gudgeon! Why didn't you say so? That a fish? How do you spell it?'

However carefully you spell everything out, after the reporter has tried to translate his crumpled and beer-stained notes next morning there's no guarantee that the news will hit the streets in a totally accurate form.

'Prize for the individual weight went to the 2 oz nutter landed by Mr Alfred Gudgeon,' is what appears. '2 oz gudgeon landed by Mr Alfred Nutter,' is what you said. Curses! But at least you tried.

Even the smallest club needs a press officer if it is to get the publicity it needs to build up its membership and have its achievements recognised. 

Local reporters, though permanently hungry for copy, cannot always spare the time to go chasing after match results, and might not even know that a match has been held. So it's up to the press officer to make life easier for them, to save them having to stir too far from the pub.

Do not be put off from making personal contact by the popular image of a journalist - scruffy, stubble-chinned, chain-smoking, drunken, noisy and brash. Arrange to meet in a pub so that the contact will be friendly and informal, and which the journalist will suggest anyway. 

Recognition is no problem: just look for someone scruffy, stubble-chinned, chain- smoking, drunken, noisy and brash. Give a firm handshake, a welcoming smile and a warm sincere greeting: 'Miss Jones! So nice to meet you...'

Providing the local reporter with match results means that his or her valuable time is not spent attending the match itself. It means also that the results, barring accidents and misprints, are accurate; that impossible demands are not made on the club's hospitality fund; that the reporter doesn't stagger from the match HQ and fall in the water, and that he's not present for the statutory punch-up at the weigh-in.

Your duties include not only supplying information which reflects well on the activities of the club. You must also prevent leaks or rumours which would reflect badly.

'RUNAWAY TREASURER IN CLUB- HOUSE LOVE NEST DRAMA' is not the kind of publicity you want to attract, and it is your duty to put the record straight, i.e. flatly deny it.

Do not be too categoric in your denials, though. Do not ring up the reporter and tell him: 'There is absolutely no truth in the scandalous rumour that our treasurer, Mr George Thistlethwaite, 52, of Potbank Terrace, Sludge Thorpe, absconded last night with the social club funds and bar takings and is believed to be headed for the Cayman Islands. 

Nor that he was accompanied by Mrs Lulu Waghorn, 33, of Foundry Road, wife of the former chairman of the veterans' committee, Mr Josiah Waghorn, 73. And certainly no foundation for the scurrilous allegations that Mr Thistlethwaite and Mrs Waghorn have been indulging in anything untoward in the clubhouse broom cupboard after our Wednesday social evenings.'

Should you feel, however, that the situation demands such specific denials, don't waste them on the local reporter. Ring up the nationals and make sure you fix your fee in advance.

Make a special point of inviting the press to the club's important social events, particularly the annual dinner and dance. If there's one thing the average reporter can't resist it's a glittering social occasion such as a free booze-up. Provide him with a list of prizewinners and copies of all the after-dinner speeches before- hand, so that if he nods off or slides under the table he'll have missed none of the side- splitting jokes and pearls of wisdom provided by the speakers.

If any of the speakers has a fatal heart attack in mid-peroration, don't forget to mention this to the reporter when he comes round. He can then phone his news desk like a true professional and say, 'No story on the big speech. The speaker dropped dead."

Anyway enough of that, after a bit of a sabbatical Sam and I were back fishing again where the local Alne was about the best option. The Warwickshire Avon is in the fields however hopefully it will be fishable again where we are hoping to target Barbara the Barbel, some some renewed vigour.

Anyway nothing to write home about but Sam tested out his winter jacket and his new neoprene gloves where plenty of bites were to be had in the first swim, where oddly it was dead in the second. The Alne usually fishes well for the bigger fish in these conditions but they didn't show whatsoever, so my quiver rod didn't get much a testing.

'Return of the Sausages'

Life gets in the way sometimes, so picture heavy this one, but we all need a break from fishing and I did with a rather enjoyable trip to Glasgow for a long weekender just gone. The record label Selador and the like-minded were at the wicked Skyline bar with knob twiddlers Dave Seaman, Steve Parry, Kasey Taylor, Hannes Bieger and Tara Brooks. 

It felt like one big family of acid house lovers (very few under 30's 😂) and for those 13 hours of 💃&🔊, and to be fair, the whole weekend of good food and drink, one's mind was elsewhere and the world's ills forgotten about!!! Thankfully the Wife is on the mend and is back driving again, the pressure has eased off 👌, now where are those rods I can now manage more than a couple of hours. 

Barbara the Barbel Update - Pt3

Barbara the Barbel Update - Pt2

 Can you send some luck our way !!! 😀

Warwickshire Avon - The Untrodden Pt.8

One of the most insidious hazards of a day's fishing is the possible psychological effect. Being wrapped up so many layers of clothing, staring for hours at a tiny float, and perhaps over-compensating for early symptoms of dehydration, can have certain disorientating results. Deprived of sensory perception through the normal channels, the brain becomes susceptible to all kinds of hallucinatory phenomena.

The most common of these is that the canal bank becomes bathed in golden sunlight, that the cooling towers have been replaced by waving palms, that the towpath is covered with golden sand and exotic starfish. Along the path, dressed only in a couple of strands of seaweed, floats a person bearing a striking resemblance to either Miss Bardot or Miss Welch.

Adjusting your loincloth and dropping your shoulder bag of jungle fresh peanuts, you rise to greet her. Hand in hand, you leap gracefully over the sand, dive into the warm crystal water and-after you have knifed a man-eating shark and a couple of alligators-you leap back together through the surf for what promises to be something rather special.

At this point you are generally seized by a feeling of creeping cold. You find that your left leg has gone over the bank, your wellie is filling with water, the cooling towers have come back and Miss Bardot (or Miss Welch as the case may be) has disappeared.

Once the hallucination has ended, the only course of action left is to pack up and make for the nearest point of hospitality to take something for the after effects.

Here, you can observe the mass effects of sensory deprivation on your fellow anglers. These take the form of a refusal to believe the most obvious truths. You tell them, for instance, of the fight you had with the 20-lb pike on roach tackle; of the way you played it for seven hours until finally you turned its monstrous head to the bank. 

Of how it bit through the handle of the landing net, leaving you no alternative but to grab it by the tail. Of how it turned on you, chomped off the toe of your wader and, with a massive leap, splashed back into the middle of the lake.

You tell them this, a patent and irrefutable truth, and they stare incredulously-one of the first signs of incipient mass hysteria. After a few seconds one of them breaks into a giggling fit. Instantly they all join in. 

The air is full of inane comments like: 'What did it do then-stick its head out and blow a raspberry?', 'That wasn't a pike-you'd hooked the corporation's killer whale!' and 'Here-have some birdseed bloody good bait for flying fish!'

There are two ways of dealing with an outbreak such as this. You can hold up your hand and shout above the din: 'Drinks all round-on me!'

This will bring them to their senses immediately and ensure a reverential silence, broken only by gasps of astonishment and cries of awe and agreement, as you repeat the story.

The second method, though less effective, is cheaper. You simply ignore them and console yourself with the thought that they have once and for all forfeited any chance of hearing how you took thirty brace of rainbow trout in two hours from a disused stretch of the Manchester Ship Canal.

Anyway enough of that, my fishing has been largely curtailed of late because my Wife had shoulder surgery a week ago and I've had to step up to the plate and basically run the household. I've said it before I realise how much she does when she is otherwise indisposed but when I've have to bath and wash her hair etc without getting her wound wet, and get stuck in to the never ending washing it will be nice for her to get back to 'normal' functionality again. 

A couple of hours here and there is all I can muster up at the minute and as I type this I've two appointments later on I've got to be chaperone for, so any opportunities to get that fishing fix needs to be grabbed with both hands. 

So a need to get some lucozade and feel good food (chicken soup and sourdough) I decided to nip in to the syndicate stretch to try and winkle out a chub. I didn't have long but the pool swim here has some nice fish in and within 10 minutes I had a fish on. I fed some pieces of bread and after the initial bleak attack eventually a rather larger hoover appeared causing a rather large wake on the surface. 

Usually I get the chub confident in feeding first, however on this occasion I got the bread on the hook and straight out in the middle of the pool where the bread after floating for around 30 seconds disappeared from view and the line tightened. 

That meant the fish was on, and it was a decent fish too, heading straight to some cover right by my feet. I had it under control though and soon after it was safely in the landing net. And that was my lot, no more fish and no more rises. A lovely mint chub though, which has reminded me, with winter on the way (sorry pensioners for two-tier Keir and the applauding Labour entourage that have taken your winter fuel payments away ) need to make that cheesepaste. 

Barbara the Barbel Update

Warwickshire Avon - Stealth Modes and Stalagmometers

As I've said before I'm not quite feeling it at the minute, but I don't think I'm alone on that matter. The Warwickshire Avon for example is very low indeed and gin clear where fishing can be very tough indeed. The fish just vanish and ok, if you fishing maggots under a float you'd catch some fish, but to put a proper bend in the rod you'll be scratching your head.

You only have to look at the match results on the stretches I fish where matches are won from lots of chublets not from decent sized chub. When the light goes however the change is quite dramatic and those bigger fish start to venture out. 

I don't need to look back at my blog to know it's no different year on year when the conditions are like this. What it is good for is for spotting fish and Sam wanted to go fishing in to dusk and in to dark to try and catch a chub. This stretch can vary quite considerably where it is shallow in the main with some nice gravel runs and also some swims with some decent depth.

After a nose around without really seeing much we settled in a swim with the most depth over the longest length. There are some good chub to be caught here too, in-fact my first 5lb chub and many more after came from here. 

We were lederging bread large pieces of bread under this raft and heading in to dusk I'd feed some mash to get them interested. The bread was getting mullered from small fish from the off and you know when the bread has been extracted from the hook when the 1oz quiver tip stops giving indications.

Not much was happening on the bigger fish front until that is the bats appeared because the first unmissable bite missed. 🙈 In-fact 4 more unmissable bites between Sam and I, things were not going well and we didn't hook up to anything !!! Then bites stopped completely and we left with a tail between our legs !!!

I'm not enjoying it at the minute, that's clear to see over lots of sessions recently so in the morning I actually went to the canal where in two hours I had 4 schoolie Zander fishing deadbaits. Nothing big showed up apart from when a boat went past then something big that was sitting in the shallows came out to chase a fish and caused a rather large disturbance on the water. 

I got back home and with threatened thunderstorms later on in the afternoon (they never happened) Sam again wanted to go out to catch some fish. 

So back out again where we went further afield to catch some more fish with maggots under a float where some small chub were caught was well as some dace, with this one being attacked by a decent looking pike on the retrieve where its scales were scattered everywhere. We also had a chub rod to fish bread off the top where in one swim we witnessed one of the biggest chub we have ever seen circling around the bread like a shark before it vanished, most likely seeing us and spooked off !!!

We tried a few more swims to see what was around where in one swim it really was like an aquarium with all manner of small fish taking the manky maggots and casters without a care in the world, then something happened 👀 You see out of the corner of my eye under my polarised sunglasses I spotted a HUGE, I mean HUGE!!! barbel that showed its flanks in the middle of the 6ft swim and my jaw dropped. 

"SAM, SAM see if you can see this !!!"

I gave him my polarised glasses and the barbel did a slow 180 turn and headed back to the incepting area it was sat it. 

"WOW, WOW it's a MASSIVE BARBEL, Jesus"

Sam wasn't wrong, the biggest barbel I've ever seen close up, let alone him and after a disappointing couple of months I've (we've) now at least a target to aim for, a fish bigger than my Warwickshire Avon PB of 12lb and 14 ounces ?, well I'm sure this fish will beat that for sure. Pincushion distortion and lateral chromatic aberration were noticeable ? no idea, all I know that it was a massive Barbel before is disappeared !!

Are there any other barbel here as well ? only one way to find out I suppose.

You can see why the fish like it here, reed filled shallows either side of this swim that drops off to a decent depth, and there is cover over at the far side and also to the left and right. There is one big problem though and that is a rather large snag in the middle of the swim. It's difficult to know what it is but it's manmade and a rather large obstruction that balloons off the bed. 

After consulting the Barbel oracle James Denison he's given me some tips to target this specific fish. One big issue is the amount of pellet nibbling chub/chublets that also frequent this swim, but I've a few different approaches to try that I'm hoping will come to fruition,

So for a while I'll be operating in Stealth Mode !!, It's time to press that button. From the lacklustre despair of late, I've got the mojo back again. 💪😎.